


Strawberry Dress

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Real Person Fiction, Video Blogging RPF, Youtubers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Tailors, Awkward Flirting, Denial of Feelings, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, no beta we die like george in manhunt, oblivious to feelings, out of everything i chose to write base off the strawberry dress, well not all of them are tailors but you'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27664273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He slipped the receipt into the package and was hastily taping it up when he blurted, "I'm sure you'll look great in it anyway."Clay raised his eyebrows as he ran his hand through his dirty blond hair. "You think so?"George nodded, not trusting himself to speak.Clay did a little mock bow. "Why, thank you, Mister…""George.""Thank you, Mister George."—————In which a tailor is blindsided (and intrigued) when he finds out who he's making dresses for. The strawberry dress wasn't for who he'd thought.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	1. Interesting

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fic is purely for entertainment. I have no intention of forcing a relationship between Dream and George. I respect them and I'll take this down if any of the people mentioned in this fic are uncomfortable with its content.

"Tommy, where did you put the tape dispenser?!" George finished his third sweep of the room as he yelled out. He returned to the wide-open package with a dress in it. The soft pink fabric decorated with strawberries laid in the box, ready to be sent off to its designated wearer.

The handiwork had taken him two months to complete, and he was proud of the outcome, which was quite rare in his case. He just needed to close the package now, but who knew finding a goddamn tape dispenser would be so difficult?

"Tommy!" George huffed and made his way to the storage rooms, where he'd last seen him. The boy in question still had his head deep inside a box, tossing its contents onto the floor.

Tommy grumbled, "What do you want?" He stuck his head out to glare at George, who returned the favor.

"Where's the tape dispenser?"

"How would I know?"

“You were the one who last used it.”

“So?”

George groaned inwardly. “So you should know where it is.”

“Well, I don’t. Go ask someone else.” And with that, Tommy resumed his previous task.

George's eyes flicked around before landing on the familiar tape dispenser. He snatched it and strutted out of the room. "Thanks a lot," he muttered under his breath.

"No problem," Tommy's muffled voice piped up.

_Idiot._ George didn't bother replying.

"There you are, George, I was looking everywhere for you.” Wilbur approached George, anxiety dancing in his eyes. He shoved a small paper labelled "To-do" in his hands. "Tubbo isn't feeling well so I'm taking him home. You are in charge of the shop and Tommy for the remainder of the day." George spared a glance at Tubbo behind Wilbur, who looked like he was going to collapse any second now. His chest clenched at the miserable sight.

“Okay, see you. Get well soon,” George murmured to Tubbo. The younger gave a tired smile in return. Wilbur waved goodbye and dragged Tubbo out the door.

As George headed back to the packing room, he read over the to-do list. Most of the tasks demanded of cleaning up and organizing the more messy parts of the shop. He figured Tommy wouldn't be much help with those. Wait-

Tommy.

A pit a dread started growing in his stomach and he pushed it aside. Just for today, right? And there were less than two hours until closing. He can totally do this.

“WILBUUUURRRRR!” Ah, speak of the devil. “Wilbur?” Tommy stepped out into the hallway.

"Wilbur isn't here." George walked faster, hoping he could escape.

"What? Why?"

"Tubbo is sick so he's taking him home. Don't think of trying anything."

“I’m not, I’m not, calm down.” Tommy held his hands up but George struggled to believe him. The last time he did, Wilbur wasn’t so happy about that stupid prank Tommy had attempted and failed to pull off. So, George took it upon himself to babysit the gremlin and promised Wilbur such shenanigans wouldn’t happen again. Even if he hated doing so, it was for the better.

The ringing of a bell pulled him out of his thoughts. Out of the corner of the eye, he saw a customer walk up to the counter. George came behind the counter and a pair of yellow (or green?) eyes met his brown ones.

"Your name, sir?" The customer was _tall_. George had to crane his neck to maintain eye contact.

"Clay."

The name rang a bell. Wilbur had told him that Clay was one of their most loyal customers, having ordered from them multiple times within the last few months. Oddly enough, most of his demands were dresses. George had always wondered why, but he chalked it up to them being for someone else.

George hurried to the packing room and found the name taped onto the only open box. He lifted the package and ran back to the counter.

The cash was already on the counter when George came back. He took the bills and was about to hand over a hefty amount of change, but Clay shook his head. "Keep it."

A thought popped up in George's hand, not a great one. _Don't ask. Don't as-_

“You’re the one who's been ordering a lot of dresses, right?” 

“Yep, that’s me.”

“Are they all for the lucky girl?” George grabbed the receipt and a pen and started writing on it.

“Not all of them.”

Clay chuckled at the tailor’s questioning stare. “The strawberry dress is for me. It’s for a dare my friend told me to do.” He scratched the back of his neck.

George recovered from his brief stupor, laughing nervously. "Well, uh, that's… interesting." The two shared a short laugh, and the awkward tension evaporated.

He slipped the receipt into the package and was hastily taping it up when he blurted, "I'm sure you'll look great in it anyway." Realizing what he said, he averted his gaze and pushed the package towards the other man. An uncomfortable heat warmed his cheeks. 

Clay raised his eyebrows as he ran his hand through his dirty blond hair. "You think so?"

George nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Clay did a little mock bow. "Why, thank you, Mister…"

"George."

"Thank you, Mister George." Clay took the package and turned to leave. "Have a good night!" He smiled, and George felt a nice, foreign warmth pool in his gut. He waved, and his eyes subconsciously followed Clay until he was out of sight. The warmth left as quickly as it came.

George glanced at the clock, figuring it was time to start closing. Hopefully, Tommy would help out without too much resistance.

He rounded the corner in search of Tommy and stopped short of bumping into someone.

"Simp." Tommy was leaning on the wall with the smuggest grin George had ever seen.

"Wha- all I did was talk to a customer and you're calling me a _simp?"_

"Yeah. You totally like him."

"No, I don't."

"That's what a simp would say. And you're blushing."

"Whatever," George grumbled, aware of the flaming heat in his cheeks. "Start helping me close the shop, idiot."


	2. Not really a secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some context, not all characters are the same age here as they are in real life. I changed Tommy and Tubbo to be 18, but that's pretty much the only changes age-wise.
> 
> I'm also coming up with a lot of dream team au ideas, so I'm planning to write those out a bit whilst working on this fic.

When Tommy's ear-splitting scream rattled the walls of the apartment, George was just about ready to kick him out.

Having Wilbur, Tommy, and Tubbo as roommates was something George had easily accepted at first with no troubles. Wilbur filled silences effortlessly with strums of his guitar. Tommy, being the passionate talker he was, could start a conversation anytime and anywhere. Tubbo managed to lift spirits, no matter how low they were.

It was nice, in fact, to have some company. Though, mocking regret would surface at the back of his mind when said roommates, one in particular, did not seem to respect his desire for at least a bit of peace. 

He'd thought by sitting in the corner of the kitchen, farthest away from Tommy's room, that he'd be able to escape the consequences of such screams. 

He shut his book louder than necessary. It didn't seem that he was going to have a relaxing evening this time. 

From the couch, Wilbur exchanged a look with him, and stood up. Now that Tommy was more vocal about his rage, he was overdue for a lecture from Wilbur.

George started opening and shutting kitchen drawers until he found the stash of instant noodles. As he prepared their dinner, he picked up bits of discussion as a few voices got closer.

"You know the neighbors have started giving noise complaints, right? And you could've woken up Tubbo, who needs rest more than anything now."

"Okay, okay, I get it alright? I'm sorry." 

The pair sat at the dining table, and George passed out the bowls. Wilbur's rambles ceased. Tommy wore a scowl to hide his guilt.

Wilbur only huffed, and turned the conversation toward a lighter topic. George ate as he watched the two talk, as if one hadn't been pissed off minutes ago, and pitched in whenever he felt the need to say anything.

Something lit up beside George, drawing his attention.

_[Messages: 19:54] Unknown Number sent you a picture_

Curiosity took over his better judgement and he unlocked his phone. His eyes landed on the picture, and his mind went blank.

Someone was wearing a strawberry dress - his strawberry dress (he recognized his own stitching style) - and they were absolutely nailing it. The way they posed, as if they were under the spotlight on a fashion show, enhanced the appearance too.

Although the dress suited them well, it was their face George couldn't tear his gaze away from. Their tanned skin seemed to glow. Freckles were peppered across their cheeks and nose. Their eyes, a familiar, intense amber, to George at least, held him captive.

**_Unknown Number_ **

_hi, this is Clay_

_you said you wanted a pic_

_i hope it lives up to your expectations :)_

A grin tugged on the edge of his lips. Elation took over his heart. He knew he probably wasn't so smooth with the impromptu receipt slip-in, but it fucking worked.

_**You** _

_Hi!_

_You look a lot better than I'd expected._

**_Unknown Number_ **

_so you didn't think I would look good?_

**_You_ **

_No, I didn't mean it like that! I'm just surprised you actually look nice in a dress_

_With that, you can practically wear anything and look good_

**_Unknown Number_ **

_just good?_

_**You** _

_Can you just take the compliment?_

**_Unknown Number_ **

_nope_

**_You_ **

_Fine_

_You'd look absolutely stunning, Clay_

_Happy now?_

**_Unknown Number_ **

_very :)_

_**You** _

_Need eat dinner, talk to you later_

_Gn_

**_Unknown Number_ **

_gn_

Clay's status went offline a few moments later. George tapped the contact name and changed it to "Clay".

"Why are you smiling like an idiot?" George snapped his head up to see Tommy scrutinizing him.

"None of your business," he replied coolly. Tommy's eyes narrowed.

In a swift movement, he stood and lunged at George. The other screeched in both surprise and fear as he fell off his chair. He attempted to keep the phone out of Tommy's reach, but Tommy grabbed it from his hand and ran to the couch.

"Clay? Who the hell- IS IT _THAT_ CLAY?!"

"GIVE IT BACK!"

George wrestled the phone out of Tommy's grip. He turned it off before Tommy could see anymore, and shoved it in his pocket.

"You got his number? When? How?" Tommy started firing questions at a flustered George.

"I gave his number to him. Now, fuck off," he growled. 

Tommy was too busy shrieking with laughter to respond with strings of curses as he usually did. Even Wilbur, who, George realized, had watched and allowed the incident to happen, was starting to giggle at the reveal.

George wished he could be deaf to the howling laughter that filled the air. Now that Tommy found out, he'll never hear the end of it.

He returned to the table and started shoving his dinner into his mouth. The noodles were cold, but he didn't care. He just needed to get out of this room now.

Later that night, he sat in bed staring at the ceiling. The initial embarrassment had faded away, and he knew it would come back for revenge, but now his mind was buzzing with something. Excitement? Anticipation? He didn't know how to label it.

He reached for his phone and started scrolling through his conversation with Clay. Sure, it was short, but it was a step out of his comfort zone nonetheless.

A little "1" popped up over the down arrow at the bottom right corner.

**_Clay_ **

_And I think you'd look stunning in a dress too._


	3. As a thank you

Simply put, George didn't like going shopping. The roommates took turns alternating chores every week. It was all thanks to the system Wilbur implemented when they first moved in together. George often dreaded his turn to shop. At Tesco, it was almost always crowded with people who would either be nice enough to move aside when needed, or so stingy they won’t give up the last box of biscuits to anyone else.

Now, George was standing in the self-checkout line, holding his basket in one hand and playing with his hoodie’s drawstrings using the other. It had been especially crowded today, for some reason, but it wasn’t like any particular events were coming up. He just wanted to go home, where there would be familiar company.

A loud crash erupted somewhere behind him. He, along with other shoppers, turned to find the culprit.

A man dropped his basket and got onto his knees under the customers’ stares. He crawled around, trying to reach for the fallen cans that were rolling all over the place. Some customers offered looks of pity, while others were indifferent to the disturbance or only slightly bothered. Before George knew what he was doing, he was on his knees too, also chasing the cans.

Eventually, the floor was clear of any proof of the embarrassing scene. He could only hope no one had recorded that. 

Clay turned to George. “Thanks for helping me, George,” he said with a sheepish look.

“No problem! I mean, I know I wouldn’t want to be crawling around the floor picking up cans of chips myself—” He was cut off by wheezing that sounded akin to a tea kettle. It sounded more like him having a heart attack rather than a good laugh, George thought, but it was contagious nonetheless. Soon, George found himself laughing along with side him, and more customers turned their heads.

The laughter dissolved into giggles. Chocolates brown eyes met with emerald green ones, and both sets were held in a trance by the other. There was something intimate about the air, something making it tranquil, and light, like autumn leaves flying in the breeze.

George was the first one to break the comfortable silence. "Are your eyes green or yellow?"

"Green, duh," Clay replied, turning away from him and searching for something on the shelves. "Are you, like, colorblind, or something?" He quirked an eyebrow with a smile still stuck to his face. George would've disintegrated into dust if it were possible.

He also hated how his cheeks burned red. "Yeah…"

"Oh… OH!" His eyes practically popped out of their sockets and the pasta box he'd been holding dropped out of his hands and right into the basket. "oh my god, I— I'm so sorry, I didn't—"

"No, it's fine, you didn't know." George huffed out a laugh.

It occurred to him how people usually never found out he was colorblind. Even his roommates didn't come to know until months after they moved in. Then again, who would ask a local tailor if they could every color or not?"

"Hey, do you know where the dairy products are?"

George nodded. Despite hating grocery shopping trips, he knew Tesco like the back of his hand. "What are you looking for?"

"Just milk," he said, pausing to check his phone, "and the rest of my list." George looked over Clay's shoulder and peeked at the rather long list.

"You just arrived?"

Clay scratched the back of his neck and averted his gaze. "I've been walking around for a good fifteen minutes now."

"I'll help you, then." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. He sped up his pace, not waiting for a response.

A look of surprise crossed the taller man's face, but he didn't resist.

They slowly made their way around the shop. George stood off to the side, watching Clay hunt for his items. Wondering if he forgot anything, he checked his own list that Wilbur had sent to him. This time, he managed to fulfill all demands. He decided to go through a few sections on his own while making sure to keep close to Clay. Some extra supplies wouldn't hurt.

Soon, his basket was nearly twice as heavy than before with the new products he'd picked out. He spared a glance at Clay, who had two cartons of milk in his hands and was looking back and forth between them. George walked towards him. He couldn't remember a single time when he'd been so hesitant of which milk brand to buy.

“You should get that one,” George said as he pointed to the carton in Clay’s right hand. The blonde started slightly upon hearing him and gave a skeptical look once he processed the words.

“Why’s that?”

George shrugged. “It’s the best.”

Clay gave a last glance at the cartons before throwing the one in question in the basket and leaving the other in the refrigerator. “Whatever you say, shortie.” They began walking to the checkout.

Irritation was quick to overtake the smug expression on George’s face. “Don’t call me short.”

“But you’re short.”

“I’m average height! And that’s not how you thank someone who saved your ass from public embarrassment.”

Clay hummed, "I think letting you spend time with me is enough." He paid for his items and left the basket where he got it. George rolled his eyes and let the conversation drop. If he was going to make friends, he probably shouldn't hold them over every little thing. After paying for his own things, he caught up with Clay, who was waiting for him at the exit. The door slid open and they stepped out.

Rather suddenly, Clay said, "I can take you out somewhere… as a thank you."

George snapped his head toward him in surprise and took in his words. He smiled. "I was joking about that, you know?"

He didn’t break eye contact as Clay narrowed his eyes and smirked. “Who said I was?”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

“I, um— I mean, if you… if you want to—”

“I’ll text you the location.” 

Clay slung his plastic bag over his shoulder, turned on his heel, and walked away. It took George a minute to find his composure again. His mind raced, and he barely noticed the relentless blush returning. He eventually pushed the thoughts aside so he could focus on getting to the bus stop.

The whole bus ride was him anticipating a text. A text did come, though not from who he had hoped.

**_Dadbur_ **

_Where r u??_

_It's been more than an hour since u left._

**_You_ **

_In the bus, coming back_

_More than an hour._ George had warned Wilbur that he'd take a while, but it seemed that Wilbur didn't think much of it until now.

The minute George unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside, he was greeted by a distressed Wilbur. "Oh my god, why the hell did you take so long?"

George set the bags on the kitchen counter. “I told you I’d take more time than usual.”

“You left at three and now it’s five!”

They glanced at the clock by the door, which didn’t have numbers, but clearly defied Wilbur’s statement {…but clearly proved Wilbur’s statement wrong}. “Quarter ‘till 5, actually,” George deadpanned. 

“Close enough,” Wilbur sighed, throwing his hands up in defeat.”

“OI!”

Something poked George from behind, hard enough briefly hurt. What the hell? He whirled around to see Tommy glaring at him, with a grey nerf gun in his hands. Two more spongy bullets were fired right at George’s chest before it clicked empty.

“Damn, wish I had more,” Tommy muttered before raising his voice and pointing a finger at George. “That’s what you get for taking so fucking long!”

“Tommy.” Wilbur stopped sifting through the groceries and slowly turned to him. “What did I say about nerf guns inside the apartment?” If looks could kill, Tommy would be dead on the floor. George slapped a hand over his mouth before a laugh could slip out.

It was only a couple months ago when Tommy and Tubbo were goofing around with their new guns, like two children on Christmas Day. Tommy had accidentally fired at a vase, knocking it over. Wilbur was livid over the shattering of his favorite vase and gave the two silent treatment until they were practically begging for forgiveness every morning. 

George considered himself lucky to not have been involved in the trouble.

Tommy visibly deflated. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not meeting Wilbur’s dirty look. Then, his voice went back to normal. “Why were you gone for so long anyways, George? Last time I checked, you hated shopping so much that you’d speedrun the list.”

“‘Speedrun’?”

“You know what I mean.” Tommy ignored the questioning look George gave him. “Anyway, did you fall in love with an e-girl there? Another e-boy, maybe?” Wilbur scoffed and rolled his eyes and him, but again, he didn’t pay much mind to it.

George, on the other hand, did not like how close his guess was. One could argue that it wasn’t even a guess, it was just Tommy trying to get on his nerves as always. “No, I did not fall in love with anyone. I just figured we could use some extra supplies, so I took some time searching for them.”

Tommy stared at him a beat longer before nodding and shifting his attention to the bags.

George started helping Wilbur unload the groceries, while Tommy seemed to be looking for something. George kept a close eye on him until the younger boy fished out a bag of chips. So that’s why he’d been shot with that stupid nerf gun.

He hummed suspiciously, loud enough for Tommy to hear, but not Wilbur. The boy met his stern eyes with a look that screamed _You better not rat me out_. A staring contest seemed to have begun because neither of the two dared to look away.

Wilbur must’ve guessed what was happening, questioning the sudden silence that’d replaced the usual bickering. He cleared his throat, capturing their attention. He snatched the bag of chips from Tommy’s hands and placed it on the highest shelf in the pantry. Classic move, overused, even, yet it worked all the time. Tommy retreated to the sink, deciding to hold back for now and do the dishes. Maybe then, he would be allowed some junk food.

There didn’t seem to be any more drama coming up, so George left the living area with a Tylenol bottle in his hand. He reached the end of a hallway and pushed open a door. “Hey, Tubbo.”

A figure wrapped in what seemed to be at least five thick, fluffy blankets turned to the door. George came up to the bedside and kneeled to Tubbo’s eyes level. He opened to the bottle, poured the proper dose into a small plastic cup, and handed it to him. Tubbo croaked thanks and downed the contents, scrunching up his face in disgust when the bitter aftertaste hit.

George couldn’t help but pity the boy. The usual cheer and lightheartedness had been overtaken by the flu for the past few days. The apartment had been quieter, perhaps gloomier, without his animated voice ringing out for everyone to hear. Sure, Tommy made up for that sometimes, and not in the best way, though even he’d been dragged down a bit by the sudden lack of energy. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than yesterday. What was Tommy screaming about?”

“How long I took to get his chips.”

Tubbo grinned, some of the fatigue lifting from his face. “I figured.”

They shared a short laugh before a soft chime interrupted them. 

_[Message: 17:01] Clay sent you a location._

**_Clay_ **

_Tomorrow, 4 PM ;)_

George rolled his eyes at the cryptic message but felt himself smiling nonetheless.

“Is that the clay block dude?” Tubbo’s scratchy voice piped up.

George looked up from his phone to find him peeking at the message. “The _who_?”

“The guy you like. Tommy told me you met him in the shop after Will and I left.”

“…We’re just friends. And why are you calling him a clay block?”

“That’s what Tommy called him, and it reminds me of the clay block from Minecraft.” George decided not to probe about their obsession of that block game. “Oh, and Tommy doesn’t think you two are just friends.”

George glanced away with a scowl. “Well, he’s wrong.”

Tubbo rolled to his side so that he could look George in the eye. “He said you gave him your number the minute you met him.” Despite his face being pale and cloudy, an innocent smile played on his cracked lips. It proved George wrong when he’d briefly thought that Tubbo’s room would be safe from the gossip since he had been staying in bed for the past few days.

He wondered how Tommy had moved on to university. He would’ve been the perfect hotspot for rumors and gossip.

The worst part was that he couldn’t even say Tubbo was wrong.

George groaned dramatically, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. He didn’t feel like facing Tubbo right now, let alone Tommy and Wilbur. “I think I’m going to leave you to rest.” He strutted out of the room and tried to block out Tubbo’s raspy giggles, but he couldn’t stop the grin creeping onto his face. 

_Tomorrow, 4 PM._


End file.
